Plotting Against Me...

I think that Jack is plotting against me. Despite his very sweet, very fat cheeks... he is really a sinister mastermind plotting to take over the world, one set of parents at a time. I am telling you... don't let the cherubic thing fool you... he's a plotter.

My little angel survived the 7 hour car trip to Osage Beach, MO both there and back like a champ. He barely made a peep, clearly trying to lull us into a false sense of security. But, once night fell in our lovely three bedroom condo serenely situated overlooking the lake, the real Jack emerged. This Jack would cry and cry until he drifted off to sleep... or so we thought. Then once he was in his pack and play, he would bide his time until the adult caring for him would drift off on a lovely trip to dreamland and then WHAM. Or more accurately WAH. The crying would start again. At the time, I chalked it up, not to evil debauchery, but to vacation stress. Babies like their routines and Jack is nothing if not a baby. Despite his 9 month attire, he is not yet 4 months old, so clearly, he was just following baby protocol. Right? RIIIIIIIIGHT. Or so he would like us to believe.

Last night he was laid to rest in his own crib (not in an RIP kind of way, but in a REM kind of way). He was cozy, warm and dressed in his favorite doggy feet pajamas. Ok, so he probably doesn't have a favorite, but they're Mark's favorite pajamas. I think if they made them for someone 6'3" with size 13 feet, Mark would wear them too and amuse himself for hours looking at the puppy heads where his feet should be. But, back to Jack. The little bugger went fast asleep at his regular hour and what? 10:35? Crying? Can't be. But yes... Jack was up. I fed him, watched a little Tivoed Desperate Housewives and he was off to sleep. I think it was the bottle, not the show that lulled him. Then Mark and I retired to our room for a blissful sleep after a little Tivoed Top Chef (despite our extreme fatigue from lack of sleep since Wednesday... we had to watch it. Its a food addiction neither Jenny Craig nor Weight Watchers can correct). And for the record, Goodbye, Richard... pack your knives and tissues and go. And just so you know, I totally thought it should be the blond guy offed, not the lovable gay, but Padma didn't ask me to judge so there you go. Anyhoo, back to Jack. I was about to hit my REM cycle when Jack was up at 12:35am. Totally Mark's turn. 3:00am: my turn. 5:17a: Mark's turn. 7:12am: my turn. No vacation bed or cold room to blame. No foreign location or central time zone to throw him off. What is he... suddenly a newborn again? This is ridiculous.

There is clearly only one reason for his behavior. He is using sleep deprivation as a form of torture (thanks, CIA, for teaching him that one). Just wait til he can turn on a faucet for some Chinese water torture (after he learns to sit up, crawl, walk and turn a handle... we've got awhile before this one becomes an issue). But he doesn't even have to resort to that, knowing that at some point I will go completely batty (like I am not already there) due to the lack of sleep and that is when he will make his move for worldwide domination. Just remember... you've been warned.